


The Man, the Myth, the Legend

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 13:33:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11738100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: Bellamy turns thirty, has a minor crisis, and gets a new shirt. Clarke just has a minor crisis.





	The Man, the Myth, the Legend

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from [peachfacedlovebirds](http://peachfacedlovebirds.tumblr.com/)!

If anyone had asked Clarke, she obviously would have said that Bellamy is hot, the same as she'd say that Raven is hot, or Lincoln, or Monty, or Octavia, or any of her friends. She has a very attractive friend group. They could definitely be on a generic sitcom or soap opera. She'd watch that.

And Bellamy would probably be the most popular one, because he's attractive and surly and sarcastic, and there would probably be a thriving slash fandom for people who shipped him and Murphy, like he and Miller wouldn't be _way_ better. Fandom loves antagonist relationships and white dudes. Clarke knows how it is.

But that's the kind of hot she thinks of Bellamy as being: theoretical and objective. It's not a hotness that affects her, really. Sometimes she'll catch his smile at just the right angle, or or he'll be too lazy to put his contacts in, and she'll remember that he's notably and somewhat remarkably attractive, but it usually passed pretty quickly.

And then his thirtieth birthday rolls around.

"Thirty," he says, morose. He's poking at his yogurt with an expression like he doesn't trust it.

"I know how old you are, yeah," says Clarke. "That's why I put a candle in your yogurt."

"Yeah, that really helped."

"I really don't get what the big deal is. Do guys freak out about turning thirty? Is that a thing?"

"It's the twenty-first century. Everyone can freak out about everything. Gender roles are dead or dying."

"Seriously," she says, poking his arm. "Is this actually an issue for you?"

"I'm not thrilled about it," he admits. "Just--thirty."

"You keep saying that like it's somehow going to clear things up for me."

"You know what I thought my life would look like at thirty?"

"When? I'm pretty sure you had pretty realistic ideas about it, like--yesterday."

"Clarke."

"Bellamy."

"I thought I'd be--settled," he says, finally. "Married, maybe a kid. I know that's stupid," he adds. "Thirty's not that old, my life is good, I'm happy. It just still feels like something to reevaluate."

Clarke sobers, feeling a little guilty. "Do you want to be married with a kid?"

"Not really. Married wouldn't be bad," he adds. "But I'm not miserably single or anything. Just--"

"Thirty's a big deal. I get it, I'm too young to understand. I'm only twenty-seven, so--"

"God, you're an asshole," he says, laughing.

"Seriously, thirty isn't that old. And your life is amazing."

"Is it?"

"You're a great teacher, you can actually afford to live alone, you have a sister who loves you, good friends, an _awesome_ best friend--"

"Yeah, Miller's the best," he teases.

"He is." She nudges his foot. "Honestly, Bellamy. I know thirty feels like a big deal, but--if you want to get married, you'll get married. We could get you on a dating app. You could lie about being a huge nerd so people will like you."

"Yeah, lying is a good start to every relationship."

He's smiling again, but she can't help worrying. Bellamy can be kind of vain and definitely overthinks things, but if he's stressed, she always wants to help. Just because whatever is stressing him out feels a little silly, she's not just going to ignore it.

Which is why she starts thinking about Bellamy's romantic prospects, and that's really the first issue.

The second issue is Octavia's birthday present, which she'd like to think would be fine, if she wasn't worried about Bellamy dating, and how it actually really _has_ been a while since Gina, and she hasn't actually noticed him hooking up either. And it makes no sense to her, because Bellamy is a great prospect, and he deserves to be happy.

All of which she's thinking about when he pulls a t-shirt out of the bag his sister handed to him at his birthday gathering, barking out a laugh when he sees the text. " _Never apologize for your bad mythology puns_ ," he reads, showing the group the shirt. "Your name is _historical_ , by the way. Not mythological. You can stop complaining about that."

"Like you haven't gotten drunk and ranted about how history becomes myth on multiple occasions," Clarke teases.

"Shut up," he says, but he's still smiling. He puts his arm around his sister and presses a sloppy kiss to her temple. "Thanks, O. Appreciated. I'm never going to wear this."

"Are you kidding?" asks Raven. "You have to put it on _now_."

"Yeah, birthday clothes go on immediately," says Monty. "That's a rule."

"A rule?" he asks, sounding both amused and dubious. "I need a source on that."

"Wikipedia," Clarke says, grinning. "Come on, Bellamy."

He shoots her a look she can't quite read, and then he shakes his head and unbuttons his shirt.

It seems impossible that she _hadn't_ ever seen Bellamy without a shirt before, although as soon as she thinks of that, she realizes she's certainly never seen Monty or Miller or Lincoln shirtless either. They haven't gone swimming together, so why _would_ they be casually shirtless? It's not particularly normal to see friends in states of undress. This is a very normal thing to have not experienced.

So of course she's never seen Bellamy shirtless, and the sight of him knocks the breath out of her. He goes to the gym, so she assumed he was in decent shape, but he's not obviously huge and built like Lincoln is. But he looks so much _bigger_ without his shirt on, broad and firm, all perfectly toned chest and stomach, freckles thick on his shoulders and trailing down from there, as if they were poured on and dripped over his body.

He's only without the shirt for about fifteen seconds while he makes sure the new shirt is oriented correctly and pulls it on, and that should make it better, but the shirt looks to be about two sizes too small, and all it does is emphasize all the muscles Clarke now knows exist and make his arms look comically huge.

Everyone else is looking too, so she doesn't feel bad, but--how can he _possibly_ be single? Even if no one knows he's secretly sweet and caring and wonderful, someone else must have noticed that he's probably the most attractive person in the history of the world. She can't believe she didn't notice. It feels like she must be the last to know.

"Like it?" he asks, and Clarke tries not to startle too obviously. He's asking the group, but he's looking at her.

"You look like a giant dork, Bell," Octavia says, happily.

"It's cute," Clarke tries, and immediately regrets it. It's not what she's actually thinking, which is that she wants to take it off him with her teeth, but it's too far the other way, inadequate but also kind of weird.

But he smiles. "Yeah?"

"Dorks are in," she says, and he ducks his head. She has to fight the urge to crawl into his lap and map the contours of his chest, and she really needs this to wear off. It's just a weird fluke, definitely. One of those odd spots of remembering that her best friend really is an attractive guy, the kind that will pass, like all the others. 

And maybe it would, if he would just _stop_ wearing the shirt, like he said he would. If she never saw it again, maybe she'd forget it. But a week later, they're at Monty and Miller's for game night, and he's wearing it again, and then at Octavia's cookout the next week, and it's suddenly impossible to ignore how much she wants him.

Which is why she decides to get him a significant other.

It seems like the simplest solution, completely logical and reasonable. Infidelity makes her itchy, and she's basically incapable of being attracted to people who are in relationships. If Bellamy gets a girlfriend or a boyfriend, the feelings will shut off, like she's hitting a switch.

"You should get Tinder," she tells him.

They're grabbing dinner after work, which means he's _not_ wearing the t-shirt, but she's permanently broken now, so she can't help catching the pull of muscles under his button-down, aware of what's waiting beneath. And that's ignoring the renewed appreciation of his face, his smile and his laugh and the way his eyes soften when he looks at her.

It's such a fucking problem.

"Like, firewood?" he asks. "For what?"

"It's an app."

"For firewood?"

"Do you seriously not know what Tinder is?"

"No idea."

"It's a dating app."

"And I should get it."

"You're worried about being single, right? Thirty, not married?"

"I'm not really worried about that. Crisis over. I'm good. Thirty doesn't really feel nearly as different as I thought it would. And I'm not in a rush to get married."

"But you should date."

He looks amused. "Yeah? Why?"

"Why wouldn't you?"

"You don't date."

"I don't _not_ date," she says.

"Do you have Tinder?"

"No."

"So why should I get it? I'm not looking to hook up with random strangers, Clarke," he says, and it sounds so oddly specific that she wants to object. "Really. I'm good."

"You haven't dated anyone since Gina."

"You haven't dated anyone since Lexa," he shoots back. "Is it a competition now?"

"I didn't have a breakdown about my birthday."

"It wasn't a breakdown. Just a mild--" He huffs. "It's a milestone, and that makes you think about where you are and where you want to go, okay? But--where I want to be isn't online dating, okay?"

"So where is it?" she asks.

He bites the corner of his mouth, and she wants to lean in, catch his lips with hers. She's been thinking about it way too much, kissing Bellamy. She's seen him kiss a few people, and she didn't realize she remembered what it looked like until she started thinking about it, but she does, and she wants it for herself. He looks like he'd be good at it.

"Here," he says. "I just want to be here."

It's a nice sentiment, and Clarke should listen to it, but she has a problem that she needs to _solve_ , and that problem is that just being with Bellamy isn't enough for her anymore, and she needs to get that back.

So she goes to Raven. 

"I want to set Bellamy up with someone."

Raven looks unimpressed. "Why?"

"Because he's single."

"So? He can be single. You're single. I'm single. You starting a dating service?"

"I think he'd like a relationship."

"Nope," says Raven, effortless. "Try again."

"He was talking about how he thought he'd be married when he was thirty."

"Then he can find a spouse."

She huffs, gives up. "He's hot, okay?"

"And?"

"And I want him to date someone else so I'll stop thinking about how hot he is."

Raven pauses, looks at her. "So, wait, you somehow only _just_ noticed Bellamy's hot?"

"It just became a problem," she says.

"You just noticed that you're into your best friend and favorite person in the whole fucking world, and you think he wants to date someone, and your solution is to hook him up with someone _else_?"

Clarke opens and closes her mouth a few times, trying to understand the words. Of course she's hooking him up with someone else. It's not like _she_ can date him. She can't. Because--she can't. He wouldn't.

"Someone he actually wants to date," she says, and Raven rolls her eyes.

"You run that past him?"

"He didn't want to sign up for Tinder."

"Clarke," says Raven.

"What are you expecting me to say to him? _I just realized I want to make out with you, are you interested?_ "

"You think he'd say no?"

It's a tough question. Clarke has those friends, the ones she'd kiss in a second, if they asked. Raven would have been one, was, right up until--

Right up until she stopped being able to think about kissing anyone except Bellamy.

"I don't want to stop at making out," she admits.

"You're the one who said you wanted to make out with him, so--"

"I know." She puts her head down on the table, groaning. "I just want to _stop_ feeling like this. If he was dating someone else--"

She feels Raven's hand petting her hair. "Pretty sure that wouldn't work. You could just tell him you're in love with him."

"I'm not," she says, on reflex.

"You sure?"

She wants to say yes, but she knows she's not actually that shallow. Lust happens to her, has happened before and will probably happen again, but this is different. 

"No," she says.

"Maybe figure that out and go from there," says Raven. "And don't try to set him up with anyone but yourself."

It's good advice, even if the only reason she takes it is that once Raven's said it, she can't stop thinking about it. She'd say she's been in love before, first with Finn and then with Lexa, but those were easy. Simple. She was dating them and the relationships progressed to a point where she was in love, and then they ended at some point and the love didn't exactly go away, but it stopped being the same kind of love. The whole thing followed a natural arc. She started the relationships with relatively little investment, and then fell in love once she'd gotten to know them.

But it's not as if she needs to get to know Bellamy. As Raven said, he is her best friend and favorite person, and now that she thinks about it, why _wouldn't_ she be in love with her favorite person? It's so entirely logical that she feels stupid for not realizing it sooner. Of course she's in love with Bellamy.

The revelation doesn't really help matters. How do people just _say_ they're in love? She tends to make out with people and go from there, but she doesn't know how to make out with Bellamy, and has even less idea of what else to do. 

So she avoids him. She bails on their usual Monday-morning breakfast, claiming she overslept. When game night rolls around, she says she's feeling tired. When he texts and asks if she's okay, she assures him she is, and when he asks if he can come over to watch TV, she says she think she's coming down with a cold.

It's not the mature way to deal with the situation, but she doesn't really know how to look at him yet, so she can't be spending time with him. Not until she figures it out. 

But this is Bellamy, and he's her best friend, so on Saturday morning, he shows up at her place.

He doesn't call first, but when her doorbell buzzes, she's sure it's him. No one else would come to see her without warning, and she's sort of been expecting it. She can't remember the last time they went this long without seeing each other, which is weird too, once she thinks about it. She can go a month without seeing Raven or Octavia, but a week without Bellamy and she's already feeling like an asshole.

When she opens the door, he's not only wearing the stupid fucking t-shirt, but his _glasses_ , and his hair is a mess, and she doesn't know how she ever thought she was anything but in love with him. Or how she thought she'd get out of it.

"I brought breakfast," he says. "And some cough medicine. And a can of soup. In case you're really sick."

She has to smile. "So, you think I'm not sick and brought supplies anyway?"

"Just in case." His eyes sweep over her, and Clarke feels her heart flip over. "What's wrong?"

"I had a stressful week."

"You could have told me."

"Since when do I deal with stress well?" she asks, with half a smile, and Bellamy smiles back. 

"You're a dick," he says. "I was fucking worried." 

"I know. Sorry."

"It's cool." He goes to the kitchen to pour coffee, moving around her space with an ease that never seemed like a big deal before. He wasn't _supposed_ to be her best friend. He was just supposed to be Lincoln's girlfriend's kind of awkward brother, and then they got along, and now--

Now he's refilling her coffee without being asked, handing her a breakfast sandwich, with bacon on an everything bagel, and pushing up his glasses when they slide down his nose, smiling at her and making her heart ache.

She doesn't know what happened.

"So, what's wrong?"

The question isn't a surprise, but she still doesn't have a good answer. "Can we not talk about it? Just--for an hour or two."

"I'm setting an alarm," he says. "Two hours and then you have to tell me."

"Of course you are."

They get set up on the couch with Netflix going, and once they're both settled in, he asks, "Do you want a hug?"

The smart answer is no, and it's the considerate one too, because if she tells him what's actually bothering her, the hug might be something he feels weird about.

"Yeah," she says anyway, and when he raises his arm, she curls into his side. They don't do this very often, but it still feels familiar. They do it just enough that she knows she wants to do it more.

"You really do need to tell me," he murmurs, rubbing his thumb against her arm. "Just--"

"I know," she says. "It's fine. You don't have to worry."

"Like that's ever stopped me," he says, and Clarke laughs and buries her face against his shoulder. He smells like soap and boy, and the stupid t-shirt is softer than she expected, and she doesn't want to know she loves him. She just wants to go back to not having any idea. "Seriously," he adds, soft. "This is a lot."

"So just imagine how annoying it is for me."

She doesn't mean to fall asleep, but the stress wasn't a lie, and she feels warm and safe and happy, completely relaxed for the first time since his birthday, so she passes out about halfway through the first episode of _Parks and Recreation_. It's some good sleep, as sleep goes, and she's actually feeling pretty refreshed when his alarm goes off.

"Shit," she hears him mutter. "Sorry, I forgot--"

He fumbles it off and glances over her like he's hoping she didn't actually wake up, and she lets herself lean up and press her mouth to his. It's no more mature a way to deal with the issue than anything else she's done, but at least she gets the kiss. Even if it's shitty, which it is, and Bellamy is frozen, which he is, she got to try it once.

He's the one to pull back, and she knows her heartbreak is written all over her face, which is why his laugh is such a surprise. She can't believe he's laughing at her, but she doesn't have time to object before his hand is on her jaw and he's kissing her now, grinning into it, kissing her like all he needed to know was how little she wanted to stop.

"Please don't tell me you're blowing off stress," he murmurs. "If this is just --"

"No, this is what I was stressed about," she says. "Telling you that I--"

He brushes his nose against hers, pulling her closer. "That you what?"

"You look really good in that shirt," she tells him, and he looks like he may never stop grinning. 

The whole thing is a great look on him.

"Just the shirt?" he teases. "So if I took it off--"

He's half on top of her now, and when she tugs the hem of the shirt, he removes it without complaint, still beaming down at her. 

"I'm in love with you," she says. It feels safe, at this point. "It was stressful."

He tucks her hair back, smile gentling as he looks at her. "Trust me, I know. But I didn't blow you off, I just stressed about it on my own time."

"Mine worked better," she points out, and he leans down again, mouth brushing her jaw.

"Yeah. I like your plan a lot more."

He stays for basically the entire weekend, and they do their best to not get more than about five feet from each other until they have to split up for work on Monday. Clarke's reassured to find out his thirtieth-birthday freakout was mostly realizing that he was in love with her, because she would have felt guilty if he'd been pining away for years and she only just noticed. Their timing was surprisingly good. No one was miserable for too long.

She's not sure exactly how the news makes its way through their friends; she assumes Bellamy tells his sister and Miller, and she tells Raven, and by the next game night, it's just common knowledge. Which is good, because Clarke's always found it really awkward to tell people about a new relationship, and it feels even more awkward to explain that she's dating Bellamy. It feels as if she needs to justify why it happened _now_ , why it didn't happen sooner or later, and she doesn't have a good explanation. This was just how it went.

But apparently Octavia got the full story, because she plops down next to Clarke on the couch and says, "Did that stupid t-shirt actually get my brother laid? Really?"

"It looks really good on him," Clarke says, trying not to blush. "Please tell me you don't want me to tell you about our sex life. That would be awkward."

"Nope, definitely not. But he's really happy, so--"

"I'm really happy too," Clarke promises. "Don't worry, it's not just him."

"Good. Glad I could help." She glances over at Bellamy, and Clarke follows her gaze. He's chatting with Miller, wearing a standard blue button-down and slacks and looks as good as he ever has, even if it took Clarke a while to notice, and she really does adore him. "Happy for you guys."

"Yeah," says Clarke, turning her attention back to Octavia with an effort. "Best birthday present ever."

**Author's Note:**

> Bellamy POV [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12805521/chapters/29299209)!


End file.
